by Walt McDonald Shiny as wax， the cracked veneer Scotch-taped and brittle. I can't bring my father back. Legs crossed， he sits there brash with a...
by Eula Biss My father told us stories every night about strange little animals that came out in the dark. When my father was away， my mother read us ...
by Afaa M. Weaver I was parading the Cote d'Azur， hopping the short trains from Nice to Cannes， following the maze of streets in Monte Carlo to th...
by Mark Irwin Sunday mornings I would reach high into his dark closet while standing on a chair and tiptoeing reach higher， touching， sometimes fumbli...
by W. S. Merwin My friends without shields walk on the target It is late the windows are breaking My friends without shoes leave What they love Grief ...
by William Wordsworth My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky： So was it when my life began； So is it now I am a man； So be it when I sha...
by Robert Browning That's my last Duchess painted on the wall， Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder， now： Frà Pandolf&#...
by Kay Ryan Nothing exists as a block and cannot be parceled up. So if nothing's ventured it's not just talk； it's the big wager. Don'...
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning My letters！ all dead paper， mute and white！ And yet they seem alive and quivering Against my tremulous hands which loose...
by Linda Gregg Something was pouring out. Filling the field and making it vacant. A wind blowing them sideways as they moved forward. The crying as be...